


Things Unsaid

by GreyHaven



Category: Haven (TV)
Genre: Advent Calendar, Angst with a Happy Ending, Christmas, Fluff and Angst, Haven Advent Calendar 2017, Inspired by A Christmas Carol, M/M, Prompt Fill, emotional angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-02
Updated: 2017-12-02
Packaged: 2019-02-09 15:03:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12890445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreyHaven/pseuds/GreyHaven
Summary: Nathan falls asleep on the couch on Christmas Eve and is woken by his father - not surprising, except the Chief has been dead for months.Inspired by A Christmas Carol/Scrooge and written for the Haven Advent Calendar 2017, Nathan and Garland get a chance to put things right - and Garland shoves Nathan in the right direction to sort things out with Duke.





	Things Unsaid

**Author's Note:**

> Set somewhere in Season 2, probably. For the Haven Advent Calendar Prompt "Christmas Scrooge, Christmas Blues".
> 
> With thanks to CookieDoughMe for beta reading and sorting out the pacing, and to YumeArashi for beta reading, reassurance, and title suggestions <3

****It was Christmas Eve and Nathan left the station late, the same way he did every day. _Why should today be any different_ , he thought as he drove home through deserted streets.  The best he could hope to get for Christmas was a day off.  A day without the Troubles.  A day without worrying about the shitstorm that Haven had become.  Not that he begrudged it, keeping the town and its people safe was his _job_ , it was just...he was _tired_ , exhausted really, and surely a single Trouble-free day wasn’t too much to ask for.

The lights and decorations on the neighbours house shone brightly through the night, in sharp contrast to the dark windows of his own house, and Nathan glowered to himself.  He usually liked Christmas, but this year - his first year with no family at all - he wasn’t in the mood to celebrate.  It felt empty, somehow.  Pointless.  For the first time, he thought he might understand why Audrey hated Christmas so much. He slammed the door of his truck and trudged into the house.

Once inside, he threw a frozen meal into the microwave and scoffed it down while standing at the counter, not even bothering to leave it long enough to cool down properly.  Dinner (if you could call it that) over and done with, he slumped onto the sofa and kicked his boots off.  He channel surfed, looking for anything that wasn’t _Christmassy_.  Every channel seemed to be full of saccharin sweet Christmas cheer and he eventually settled for watching a re-run of Die Hard.

Having watched it so many times he could quote the lines, the film wasn’t holding his attention and his eyelids were soon heavy and drooping.  Before long, he was in a deep sleep and snoring softly.

He was startled awake by a hand gently shaking his shoulder.  “Audrey?”  He murmured, still half asleep.

“No, son,” Garland replied.

Nathan’s eyes shot open and he scuttled backwards on the couch, reaching behind him to where his gun lay on the table.  Whoever, _whatever_ , this was, it couldn’t be his father.  It wasn’t _possible_.

Garland raised his hands in a placating gesture which did absolutely nothing to reassure Nathan.

“Dad?  What is this?”  Nathan raised his voice as he fumbled for his weapon because _what the fuck_.

“I’m here to show you a few things,” Garland replied and that was _not helpful_.

Nathan’s fingers finally closed around his gun and he pointed it at the apparition that couldn’t be his father.  “No.  You’re not him.  He’s dead.”

“It is me, Nathan,” Garland’s voice was insistent, almost patronising.  “I promise you.  It’s really me.  How can I prove that to you?”

“What were the last words we said to each other?” Nathan raised his chin and waited.  There had only been the two of them on that beach, and Audrey, and he knew she wasn’t involved in whatever the fuck this was.

Garland’s eyes met Nathan’s.  “You asked me to let you both help, I told you I love you,” he said.  “Then you called me Dad.  Dad, not Chief.”

“What is this?” Nathan repeated, now at least reasonably convinced that he was in fact speaking to his father, however impossible it might seem.  “Some sort of Trouble?”

“Not exactly,” Garland was as evasive as ever.  “Can you put the gun down, I’m not here to hurt you, Nathan.”

Nathan slowly lowered the gun but kept it in his hand.  If this, whatever _this_ was, was Trouble related then anything could happen.  “Am I dreaming?”

“Maybe, maybe not, but dreams can be real, too,” the way Garland looked at Nathan made him feel as though he was being _studied_ and he bristled at that.  

“Can you stop speaking in riddles?” Nathan snapped, fast losing patience with his father’s avoidance techniques - story of their lives, really.  “What’s going on?”

“You know the story of Ebeneezer Scrooge?”

“Yeah,” Nathan’s voice was clipped and short.  “Oh crap, that’s what this is?  Ghosts of Christmases past, present and future?”

“That’s it, son, there’s some things we need to put right.  Stuff we need to sort out.”

Nathan nodded and took a deep breath, trying to collect his thoughts (or, more accurately, bury his emotions because there were far too many of _those_ floating around right now).  Maybe this was a Trouble, maybe it wasn’t, but this was his _father_ and he had nothing to fear from him.  He set his gun back down on the table.

“Will you come with me, Nathan?”  Garland asked, his hand outstretched.

A split second of hesitation and Nathan got to his feet.  If this really was a Trouble then the best way to solve it was to go along with whatever this...dream...was.  And if it wasn’t...well, he’d deal with that later.  “It’s good to see you, Dad,” he admitted, because it really _was_ , even though it was strange and impossible and (to use a Duke phrase) _Haven-y_.  He took his father’s hand and that was strange too.  He shouldn’t be able to feel that and he wondered again if he was dreaming.  Or hallucinating.  Stress maybe.

Before he had time to think on that further, the room shifted and his stomach lurched.  He shifted his feet to keep from falling.  

“Christmas past,” Nathan said, his voice full of sadness as he looked around.  They were standing in exactly the same place as they had been, except the furniture and the wallpaper were different.  The same as he remembered from his childhood.

“Christmas past,” Garland confirmed, resting his hand on Nathan’s shoulder.

Nathan leaned into the comforting gesture, so welcomed but so _unusual_ coming from his father.  A small scuffle caught his attention and he straightened to see a small boy enter the room, a bowl of cereal clutched in his hand.

The room was devoid of anything Christmassy - no cards, no decorations, no presents - and Nathan knew the rest of the house was the same.  The boy was completely oblivious to their presence as he carried on with his breakfast and switched on the television to watch some cartoons.

It was a sad sight.  A day that should have been filled with family and feasts and festivity, and here he was - completely alone and seemingly not bothered about the fact it was Christmas Day.

“I should’ve done better by you, Nathan,” Garland said quietly, his voice full of regret.  “Leaving you alone like this, pretending Christmas didn’t exist.  It was wrong.”

Nathan shrugged off the apology that was _years_ too late.  “You were working, I understand that. Maybe I didn’t back then but I do now.”

“You should never have had to understand that, son.”

“No, I get it, you were raising me to help deal with the Troubles when they came back,” Nathan told him.  And that was the truth of it.  He understood that now.  It had always been his destiny.

Garland’s face darkened.  “Like a lamb to slaughter.  I’m sorry, Nathan, you should’ve had more choice.”

“Would’ve made this choice anyway,” Nathan tried to brush him off once again.  

“No,” Garland insisted.  “You wanted to be a doctor and I stopped you.  I shouldn’t have.”

“Would’ve failed at med school,” Nathan muttered darkly.  Maybe he _had_ wanted to be a doctor, but that was just a kids wishful thinking, wanting to make sense of his mother’s death.  “I like being a cop.”

“It wasn’t your dream though.”

“Maybe not, but it worked out ok and at least I make a difference with the Troubles,” Nathan pointed out and maybe he was going to say more about that but he was interrupted by a loud knock on the front door.

Young-Nathan eagerly jumped up to open it.   He came back with a taller boy, the same age, thin and scrawny in clothes two sizes too big.  He was pale and his hair was a mess but he was grinning widely as young-Nathan fixed him a bowl of cereal and they sat on the couch to watch television together.

“Something else I got wrong,” Garland said.

“Duke?”  Nathan replied.  “No, you were right there.”

Garland shook his head.  “I really wasn’t.  I let my views of his father affect what I thought about him.”

“He’s not his father, no, but he’s...something,” Nathan trailed off, unable to voice his exact feelings about Duke.

“You care more than you think,” Garland told him.

“I really don’t,” Nathan glared at him for daring to suggest that.

“Yeah, well, that was something else you learned from me.  Not showing your feelings.  Guess now you know why I was like that.  Had to hold the town together and I couldn’t do that if I felt anything.”

“Ironic really,” Nathan snorted.  “You couldn’t do emotions, I just can’t feel.”

“You don’t think the two are linked?”

Nathan stared back at him, blank, confused.  He’d never really put that much thought into the _why_ of his Trouble, he’d just...accepted it as one of those things.  The idea that there might be a psychological aspect to it confounded him.  Even with all of the Troubles he’d helped people deal with, the concept that his might operate in the same way had never occurred to him.

Garland sighed.  “Your Trouble.  You can’t process emotions so you shut down and stop feeling anything at all.”

“I have emotions,” Nathan snapped, offended that anyone would think he _didn’t._  Just because he chose not to _show them_ didn’t mean he didn’t _have them_.

“Which you process unhealthily.  That’s why you’ve never been able to control your Trouble,” Garland explained.  “I should’ve done better by you,” he said again.

“I process,” Nathan objected.  He was beginning to think his father might have a point but he was definitely _not ready_ to admit that.

“You don’t,” Garland told him.  “Remember when you were a kid and you broke your arm?  You went numb to avoid the physical pain on top of the emotional pain of losing your mother.”

“I was a kid,” Nathan said, his temper rising.  And he was _not_ being defensive.  Definitely not.  “I’m not any more.”

“No,” Garland agreed.  “But the same thing still applies.  You deal with things by burying them.”

“Bullshit,” Nathan let out a humourless laugh, now fully on the defensive.  “I don’t bury anything.”

“No?  I seem to remember you went numb again after a fight with Duke.  What weren’t you dealing with then?”

“It hurt!  I was black and blue.  So was he.  You must remember that.”

“I do,” Garland told him.  “Wanted to bash your heads together, throwing away a friendship like that.  You were friends once, you could be again.”

“I don’t need friends,” Nathan dug his heels in.  “Especially not Duke.”

“But you do,” Garland was just as firm.  “Audrey, Duke, Dwight even.  You need them.  Lean on them when times are tough rather than burying everything.”

“Whatever,” Nathan snorted.  “I’ve dealt with Mom dying, I’ve dealt with Duke betraying me and using me to get out of shit with the Coastguard.  I’m not burying anything and I’m still numb.”

“Really?” Garland asked.  “You’ve dealt with whatever conflicted feelings you have for Duke?”

A heartbeat of hesitation before Nathan answered.  “I don’t _have_ conflicted feelings about Duke,” he said through gritted teeth.

Garland shrugged.  “If you say so.  Dealt with the grief of losing me yet?”

Nathan stared back at him, expressionless, not wanting to answer that.

“Thought not.  So much we never said to each other.”

“I just need time,” Nathan ran a hand across his face, not ready to face up to that yet.

“Time is a luxury you don’t have, son,” Garland told him, and his tone was gentle as he took Nathan’s hand again.

As soon as their fingers touched, the room shifted in the same way it had before, with the same lurch in Nathan’s stomach, the same stumble as he shifted his feet to keep from falling.

It was a surreal, out-of-body, experience to watch himself sleeping on the couch as the dim morning light filtered through the curtains.  He looked on as his other-self woke up and went into the kitchen, making coffee before settling down to read yesterday’s paper.

Nathan turned away from the sad sight.  He knew what his plans were for Christmas day, he didn’t need to see himself doing it.

“You shouldn’t be on your own, Nathan, not at Christmas.”

“Who would I spent Christmas with, anyway?”  Nathan shrugged.  “It’s a family time and it’s not like I even _have_ a family,” he said bitterly.

“Friends,” Garland stated, as though it should have been obvious.  “Open up, let people in.  Family doesn’t have to mean blood relatives, as you well know.”

“I have friends,” Nathan told him, folding his arms across his chest.  As he said it, he wondered if it was even true.

“You do, but you don’t let them in.  Only two people you’ve ever been close to are Audrey and Duke.”

“Maybe,” Nathan muttered.  The Chief might have a point there.

“And that isn’t good, Nathan.  That’s what I did too.  Don’t follow in my footsteps.  Be your own man.  Be someone who makes _you_ proud.  Don’t live up to some pathetic ideal I put in your head when you were a kid.”  Garland’s voice was hoarse with emotion.

The full extent of the guilt his father carried hit Nathan hard.  He’d never realised.  Always thought that it had been _his fault_.  His fault that he wasn’t man enough to make his father proud.  His fault that he wasn’t good enough to earn his father’s love.  It had never occurred to him that it had nothing to do with _him_ at all, that his father had made enough mistakes to feel _regret_ over them.  “You did the best you could, I know that.”

“My best wasn’t good enough.”

And _ouch_ , those words stung and there was a waver to Nathan’s voice as he answered.  “It _was_ , Dad.  It _was_ good enough.”

“You should’ve had it better, Nathan.”

“No,” Nathan insisted.  He blinked back tears, tears that he was angry to feel.  “You raised me well.”

“For my own gain.  For Haven’s benefit.  Not for yours.”

“But that’s what the town _needs_.  They need me like this.  An emotionless, Trouble solving, robot.  Anything else would be failing the people of Haven.”

Garland’s eyes were on him, studying him carefully and it was _uncomfortable_ being under such intense scrutiny.  “It wouldn’t.  Let me show you how different it could be.”

His mind working overtime, trying to make some sort of _sense_ of all this, Nathan nodded, albeit reluctantly.  Garland took his hand and the room shifted once again.

This time, they found themselves in the Grey Gull.  It was almost unrecognisable.  Decorations festooned every surface and Christmas music was playing softly.  Tables were pushed together to form one long one which was positively groaning with a feast laid out - enough to feed the whole town.  

Audrey sat with Chris Brody.  Her grin was happy, relaxed, as he whispered something into her ear.  Dwight and Jordan were locked in intense conversation and Claire Callahan was laughing at something Julia Carr had said.  The Teagues were bickering (as usual), something to do with potatoes.  Bill and Meg McShaw gazed adoringly at each other as their kids played with their new toys.

It was festive and cheerful and Nathan couldn’t see how he fitted into this scenario.  Until Duke emerged from the kitchen, laden down with a huge roast beef joint which he carried to the table, closely followed by Nathan who carried two large jugs of gravy.  The other Nathan was smiling as he put the jugs on the table and took a seat next to Duke.  His smile grew wider as Duke nudged his shoulder.

_That_ was odd.  Nathan’s eyes widened.  “I can feel him.  That mean the Troubles are over?”

“No,” Garland told him, quietly.  “You just learnt to control yours.”

“I look happy,” Nathan said, a wistful tone to his voice.  His heart gave an unpleasant leap as Duke held a sprig of mistletoe over the other Nathan’s head.  Any thoughts that he might have had that he and Duke had become friends were banished when Other-Nathan went bright red but leaned in for a kiss all the same.   _What the hell?_  “Are Duke and I...together?”  He looked to his father for confirmation.

“Certainly looks that way,” Garland smiled.  “Sure you don’t have conflicted feelings about him?”

A long pause while Nathan thought on that.  It had been the fight with Duke that set his Trouble off.  He remembered the feel of Duke’s fists hitting his face, his ribs, his arms.  He remembered the feel of Duke’s breath on his skin as he shouted, the words long since forgotten in the chaos of the fight.  He remembered being hit with the realisation that the betrayal hurt so much because he _loved Duke_.  And then nothing.  Numbness.  Duke had been the last person he felt.

His face must have shown his confusion.  “Thought so,” Garland said softly.

“Doesn’t matter what I feel though, does it?”  Nathan argued.  “Duke doesn’t give a shit about anyone except Duke.  This,” - he jerked his head towards the room - “Is all make believe.  It isn’t _real_.”

“I wouldn’t be so certain about Duke,” Garland told him.  “I can show you…”

Nathan rolled his eyes, caught somewhere between frustration and disbelief.  “I wouldn’t have figured you for playing matchmaker.”

“I’m not, son, I can just see things that you can’t and believe me, you’re both hurting.  Ready for Christmas future?”  Garland’s smile was almost kind.

“As I’ll ever be,” Nathan wasn’t sure he was even remotely ready for that.  He took a deep breath, steadying himself before Garland nodded took his hand again.

They found themselves by a graveside.  Mourners crowded around the coffin, collars pulled up against the softly falling snow as the reverend spoke.  Audrey leaned on Chris, his arms supporting her as she sagged against him, tears running down her face.  Duke stood away from the others, under a tree, his eyes red and his face strained as he sipped from a hip flask.

“Christmas Eve, next year,” Garland said quietly.

Nathan struggled to breathe.  “I have a year?”  He forced the words out, his throat constricted with barely restrained emotion.

“Almost.  No one wanted to do the funeral so close to Christmas but Duke insisted.  Said you’d want it over and done with and not have it hanging over people.”

Surprising.  Still… “He was right,” Nathan replied quietly, not trusting himself to speak much above a whisper.  Not only was he worried that his voice might crack but it felt _wrong_ to be talking at a funeral.  Even if it was his funeral.  Even if no one could hear them.  “Why’s he standing alone?”

“Blames himself.  Thinks he should’ve been there to save you but you wouldn’t let him.”

Nathan nodded, buying himself time to try to gather his thoughts.  A lost cause, maybe, because...standing at his own funeral was...something he didn’t have words for.  He couldn’t help wondering how he’d died if Duke thought he could’ve saved him.  The way Duke had reacted to the prophecy of his own death...Nathan decided it was better not to ask.  He didn’t need to know that.  “Didn’t know anyone’d come to my funeral,” he remarked instead.

“People respect you, son.  They might not always like you but they respect you.”

“Rather be respected than be liked.”

“Well maybe there’s something in that, but there’s someone who likes you more than you think,” Garland reached for Nathan’s hand again.

They were on the Rouge.  Nathan recognised it instantly, even before he’d caught sight of Duke.  How could he not?  He’d turned the place upside down during so many searches for illegal goods and weapons.  He felt slightly sick at the thought.

Duke was older, his face more lined, his hair and beard tinged with grey.  He sat, slumped in a corner, a nearly empty bottle of whisky by his side.  As they watched, he picked up the bottle and drank from it, leaving it empty.  He staggered to his feet, leaving the bottle discarded on the floor and reached to pluck another one from the shelf.  Clutching the bottle as though it was a lifeline, he picked up a framed photo and crumpled to the floor once more.

“I’m sorry, Nate,” he slurred as tears gathered in his eyes.  “Should’ve been there.  You shouldn’t’ve had to die alone.  Shouldn’t’ve had to die at all.”

Nathan turned away, unable to bear the sight of his grief.  It was too painful, watching his old friend like that.  Too sharp.  Too _real_.

Garland squeezed his shoulder.  “Ten years and he still hasn’t moved on.  Spends his time drinking and gambling and not much else.  He lost the Gull and kept the boat by the skin of his teeth.  He’s lost without you.”

Nathan nodded an acknowledgement.  Thoughts whirled through his mind and he couldn’t speak. He hadn’t _known_ , hadn’t even _thought_ , that Duke would be so affected by his death, and that brought a new clarity to how he felt about Duke.  He swallowed hard.  “Can we go?”  He asked, not wanting to see Duke like that for even another minute.

Garland nodded a reply.  “One more stop.”

They were back in the graveyard, standing close to Nathan’s headstone, the grave neatly tended and a single white rose placed on it.  Duke was staring down at the grave, old and frail looking now, swaying slightly as he tried to stay on his feet.

“Thirty years, Nate,” he said quietly, tears running down his face.  “Thirty years and I guess I’ll be joining you soon.  Docs say I don’t have long.  Fucked my liver with all the whisky.  It’ll be a relief.  I hope you’ll be waiting for me.  I know you won’t be.  But I can hope.  It’s all I have left, the thought that I might see you again when I get there.  Wherever there is.  But maybe we’ll end up in different places, can’t see myself ending up anywhere other than wherever hell turns out to be,” - he let out a small, humourless, laugh - “See ya, Nate,” he finished and turned away, slowly weaving across the empty graveyard.

Nathan watched him go and turned to Garland, his fists clenched.  “Thirty years?  He wouldn’t even make it to seventy!”  He said, his voice shaking.  “Why didn’t anyone _help him_?”

“People tried.  Bill and Meg.  Audrey.  Even Dwight.  But he wasn’t having any of it.”

Garland’s words hit Nathan like a steam train.  Of course Duke wouldn’t accept help, he’d always been too proud for that.  All the times he’d needed help in the past and Nathan had done _nothing_.  “Can I change this?”  He asked, filled with a sense of _urgency_.

Garland nodded and took Nathan’s hand.

They were back in Nathan’s house, staring down at the sleeping form of Nathan on the couch.

“Is Duke ok?  Now, I mean,” Nathan checked.

“He’s fine, asleep on the Rouge.”

“How do I change it?”  Nathan paced the room.  He couldn’t keep still, couldn’t _settle_ , wouldn’t be able to until this was sorted.  Whatever else, there was no way he wanted Duke to go through that.  Thirty years of grief, losing everything, drinking himself into an early grave.  No.  Just no.  Not if there was _anything_ Nathan could do to prevent it.

“Whatever you two have got going on, you need to sort it, son.  That man loves you and if you feel anything at all for him then you need to work it out.”

Nathan paused in his pacing and nodded.  He bitterly wished that he’d been able to see it before, that he hadn’t had to witness Duke’s grief to make him see what was right in front of him.  “How long can you stay?”

“Only a few minutes,” Garland told him gently.

“Dad, no,” Nathan pleaded uselessly.  It hadn’t been _enough_.  There was still so much left unsaid.  “I don’t want you to go, we still need to talk.”

“I can’t stay.  We’ve said it all, Nathan.  You’ll be fine now.”

“I won’t die in a year?”

“Not if you let Duke in, let him help you.”

“And that won’t put him at risk?”  Nathan ran his hand through his hair.

Garland smiled.  “No, you’ll save each other.  In more ways than one.”

Nathan nodded, his eyes filling with tears, his hands shaking, his grief for his father sharp and painful all over again.

“I’m proud of you, son,” Garland told him.

“I miss you, Dad,” Nathan admitted, the tears starting to fall.  “I don’t want to forget you.”

“You won’t,” Garland smiled.  “Don’t keep grieving for me, move on.  You don’t have to worry about me.”

Nathan watched the figure of his father fade away, crying openly now, huge sobs wracking his body before his world turned black.

He woke on the couch and immediately sat up, remembering every moment of his not-dream.  In a near daze, he frantically pulled on his boots and paused only to swipe his truck keys from the counter so he could race across town to the Rouge.

The mustard yellow Land Rover was parked on the harbour and - _thank fuck -_ Duke was here.  Nathan breathed a small sigh of relief and skidded to a halt, tyres screeching.  He only just remembered to turn the engine off before leaping out of the truck, one single thought in his mind.  Duke.  His boots barely touched the ground before he was flying the last few feet onto the Rouge and hammering on the door.

There was no answer at first and Nathan’s panic was all-consuming.  Maybe something had happened.  Maybe Duke was hurt.  Maybe he wasn’t here at all.  He pounded on the door again.

“All right!” Duke’s voice shouted from inside.  “You’d better have a damned good reason for waking me up this early, whoever you are.”

Locks scraped, metal on metal, and the door slowly opened to reveal a dishevelled, sleepy, Duke clad only in a sheet which he’d hastily wrapped around himself.

“Need to talk to you,” Nathan said, abrupt in his panicked need to make sure Duke didn’t slam the door in his face.

The roll of Duke’s eyes suggested that he’d been planning on doing exactly that.  He paused, as though considering.  “Whatever you think I’ve done, whatever you’re here to arrest me for, _Chief Wuornos_ , I haven’t done it.  I’ve been here, alone, since you saw me yesterday.”

His suspicion, his clear _disbelief_ , shot through Nathan.  “I’m not...Duke, I’m not here to arrest you.  I mean it.  I want to talk.”

“Better come in then,” Duke said, his tone wary, his voice guarded.  Nonetheless, he opened the door fully, allowing Nathan in.

“Thanks,” Nathan muttered, relief flooding through him as he squeezed past Duke and into the warmth of the Rouge.

“Mind if I get dressed first?  Or is questioning half naked suspects part of your new plan?”  Duke snarked.

Nathan glowered at him.  Snarking was _not helpful_ , but Duke didn’t know that.  Yet.  “You’re not a suspect.”

“Fine.  I’m still getting dressed.  You remember where the coffee is?”  Duke waited for Nathan to nod yes.  “Then for fucks sake make some, I don’t function this early without coffee.”  With that, he yawned and ambled back in the direction of the bedroom.

Water spilled from the coffee pot as Nathan filled it and he looked down.  His hands were visibly shaking and (not for the first time) he cursed his inability to _feel_.  He tried to work out what he was going to say, tried not to worry about how Duke might take it.  Whatever reaction he might get, he had to _try_.

After a couple of minutes, Duke came back, now fully dressed and looking marginally less pissed off.  Nathan managed to pour two mugs of coffee without spilling it everywhere.  He immediately started to take a sip of his.

The mug had barely touched his lips when Duke shouted.

“Nathan!”  Duke pulled the mug away from him.  Coffee splashed on the floor.  “Do you _want_ to burn yourself?”

“Forgot,” Nathan mumbled.  That was pretty much the truth of it.  In his nervous distraction, he’d momentarily forgotten that burning himself was a distinct possibility.

“You _forgot_?”  Duke replied, quickly mopping up the spilled coffee.

Nathan stared at him.  How had he missed it for so long?  Duke always did this, these seemingly small things, that had gone over Nathan’s head for years.  Too many years.

Duke straightened up and dropped the cloth on the counter.  “So what’s going on?  I mean, you’re not here to arrest me, it’s a bit early for beer and poker, even if it is Christmas Day, so why _are_ you here at half past middle of the night?”

Heat rushed to Nathan’s face.  He was nowhere near ready to have this conversation, but if everything his dad had shown him was right, he didn’t have time to waste.  “Remember when we were kids?  You used to come over for Christmas?”  He said softly, a tiny smile curving his lips upwards.

“Yeah,” Duke nodded.  “Wait, is that what this is?  Because I swear to god, if you’ve woken me up at this time just to invite me over later, I’m going…”

“No, no,” Nathan interrupted.  “It’s just a good memory, that’s all.”

“Ok,” Duke said with a slight shrug of his shoulders.  “It was good.  Your place was always warm and had food.  Well, cereal anyway.”

“We were friends, weren’t we?”

Duke’s expression softened, his face less set, his eyes less wary.  “We still are friends.  I mean, I know you hate me most of the time, but we’re still friends.”

Nathan shook his head.  “Don’t hate you, never did.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Duke snorted.

“I know and I’m sorry,” Nathan’s shoulders hunched over and he jammed his hands in his pockets.  How could he make Duke _see_?  “That day with the Coastguard…”

“Really?  We’re still on that?”  Duke turned away, muttering a string of curse words under his breath.

Whatever else might happen, Nathan couldn’t let him _walk away_.  He reached out instinctively, grabbing onto Duke’s arm with a grip that must have been painful.  “No.  Hear me out, please.”

“Good, because I already explained that it was a _coincidence_ ,” Duke said.  Temper flared in his eyes as he shook his arm free of Nathan’s grasp.

“Yeah,” Nathan said.  He ran his hand over his face.  “I know, Duke.”

“Took you long enough,” Duke glared at him.

“It did,” Nathan gave a wry, rueful smile.  Too long.  “Can you...can you just let me speak.  Got something to say and it’d go a lot easier without you interrupting me.”

“Fine,” Duke huffed.  He sprawled onto a chair and waited.

Nathan leaned against the counter and folded his arms as he tried to work out what the hell he was going to say.  “That day,” he started.  “I thought you were using me and I got angry.  Shouldn’t’ve.  Should’ve known better.  I’m _sorry_ , Duke, so goddamn sorry for my part in that whole thing.”

“It’s ok, Nate,” Duke said quietly.  “It’s in the past, let’s leave it there.”

“I _can’t_ ,” Nathan shook his head.  “That’s what I’m trying to tell you.”

Duke gestured with his hands, inviting Nathan to continue.

This is what it had come down to - tell Duke how he felt or walk out of here and abandon Duke to the fate Nathan had seen in his not-dream.  Nathan hesitated, remembering Duke’s face at his graveside.  The grief that was written for everyone to see.  The way he’d never recovered.  He had to tell him, no matter what it cost.  He took a steadying breath.  “Wasn’t until we were trading punches that it hit me.  Why the thought of you using me hurt so much.  Then I went numb and nothing’s been the same since.”

“Yeah,” Duke stared at the floor, his guilt plain to see.  “I’m sorry too, Nate, for being the one to set your Trouble off again.  Guess you’d have been fine if it hadn’t been for me.”

“Duke. Wasn’t you punching me that did it.  It was the sudden realisation that you using me hurt so much because I was in love with you and I didn’t know what to do with it so I just shut down and pretended my feelings didn’t exist,” Nathan said quickly, the words tumbling from his lips in a desperate attempt to get them out before courage failed him.

“Whoa, back up a minute,” Duke said, leaning forwards.  “Did you just say you were in love with me?”

“Yeah,” Nathan’s voice was barely above a whisper.  This was it.  Now it had come down to it, he didn’t want to hear Duke’s reply.

Duke looked back at him, his eyebrows raised.  “Were or are?”  He asked softly.

“Are.  Am,” Nathan stared down at his feet.  “Maybe I can’t fix what might have been but I want to try, damn it, and if you don’t then just tell me and I’ll leave.  Can pretend this never happened and go back to hating each other.”

Duke was on his feet in an instant, as though the thought of Nathan leaving had stirred him into action.  He threw his arms around Nathan, knocking him off balance slightly.  “We can fix it,” he murmured.

Nathan accepted the embrace, just for a moment before he pulled away enough so he could see Duke’s face.  A vague feeling of _hope_ flooded through him and his hands clung onto Duke’s shoulders, probably painfully.  He made himself relax his grip.  “So you…?”  He asked, leaving the question unspoken.

“Yeah,” Duke said quietly, as if he couldn’t quite believe that Nathan had _said that_.  As if he couldn’t believe what he was about to say.  “Yeah, Nate.  I’m in love with you, too.  Always have been.  Never stopped.”

In that instant, words weren’t enough.  Nathan’s breath caught in his throat as he curled his hand around Duke’s neck and leaned in slowly, hesitantly, to brush his lips against Duke’s.  The second their lips touched, he leapt back with a small cry.   _What the fuck?_

“Nathan?”  Duke’s brows were knitted into a concerned frown.

Nathan hurriedly reached out to take Duke’s hand and let out a gasp.  “Duke…” He whispered, his eyes wide open.  “I can feel you.”

Duke hesitated.  “That’s a good thing, right?”

“Y-yeah,” Nathan nodded, smiling in wonder and staring down at their joined hands.  “It’s a good thing.”

Duke squeezed his hand lightly and smiled.

Caught up in the sensation of Duke’s skin against his own, it took Nathan a moment to register that he could _feel_ .  The scrape of denim against his thighs, the soft cotton of his undershirt, he could feel his breath against his upper lip.  It was too much.  It wasn’t _enough_.  His knees felt weak and his head span as he tried to process.  He did the only thing he could think of, the only thing that felt _right_.

He threw himself into Duke’s arms.

“Ssshh, I’ve got you, Nate, I’ve got you,” Duke said quietly, shifting his feet for a better sense of balance as Nathan sagged against him.

Nathan clung to the comforting, warm, bulk of him, his arms wrapped around Duke’s waist as though he might disappear if Nathan let go (or maybe in case _Nathan_ would disappear without Duke as his anchor to this new reality).  With his cheek pressed against Duke’s, he shivered slightly as Duke’s breath caressed his neck.

The words kept echoing around his head - _I can feel, I can feel_ \- and relief flooded through him.  There was no guarantee that his Trouble wouldn’t come back, not until they’d solved the Troubles, anyway, but now he knew how to deal with it.  It gave him back some measure of control.

Slowly, minute by minute, he adjusted, the sharpness of the new sensations fading back to familiarity so he could focus on the truly new ones.  Duke’s body, hot against his own, solid muscle below soft layers of clothing.  Duke’s hands, stroking his back, firmly but gently, as if he instinctively knew that a too-gentle touch would be a sensation overload.  Duke’s chest rising and falling with every breath he took.

Absentmindedly, he fiddled with a loose thread on the back of Duke’s sweater, relishing the feel of something so tiny beneath his fingers, relieved to have something to focus on instead of _everything_.  “Duke?”  He mumbled into Duke’s neck, tendrils of Duke’s hair tickling his nose.

“Yeah, Nate?”  Duke answered quietly.

“Know you probably had plans, but could we spend Christmas together?”

Duke smiled and nuzzled into Nathan’s hair.  “Course we can.  Pancakes for breakfast, then open up the Gull for folks who have nowhere else to go?”

“Sounds good,” Nathan grinned.  “If you don’t mind me tagging along while you work.”

“I wasn’t planning on ever letting you go anywhere.”

“Me neither,” Nathan finally relaxed fully into Duke’s contact.

Duke held him, steadying him as he found his balance, squeezing him tight as he pressed soft kisses, working up from Nathan’s neck, to his jaw and finally to his lips.

As their lips met, Nathan was overwhelmed with a sense of how _right_ it felt, a sense of regret that it had taken him _so long_ to admit his feelings.  He had a lot of work to do to put things right with Duke; all the arrests, all the parking tickets, all the insults.  All the punches.  The memories left him feeling sick and he couldn’t believe how lucky he was that Duke had immediately put that all to one side and welcomed him with open arms.  That was something to worry about tomorrow.  For now, there was only one thing he was going to do.

He kissed back.


End file.
